Murphy's Law
by SilverCyanide
Summary: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. That was Murphy's law. Nobody ever believed it - at least, not until it started applying itself to their lives. Rikkai-centric. Angst, self injury, eating disorders, child abuse, character deaths, various pairs.
1. Setting the Stage

**Disclaimer: **All characters and canonomical facts belong to Konomi Takeshi. The Rikkai naming system (Marui as 'Maru', Niou as 'Haru', Yukimura as 'Mura' and so on) belong to Sandileina. I own the rest.

**Warning: this fic contains mature themes that include, but are not limited to, eating disorders, drug and alcohol abuse, self injury, and death, among others. This will also probably contain some shounen-ai, and quite possibly mature sexual themes. If you do not feel comfortable reading a story with this content please leave now.**

**A/N:** Because I shouldn't be starting a new story, but I am, and here it is for the world to see. No shooting on the topics, and if it makes you uncomfortable - well, that is the point. Also, in later chapters there may be some canonomical differences due to the plot of the fic - _this fic takes place at the beginning of canon._ So here's chapter one.

**Dedicated to everyone who has ever had to go through any of these, and to those who weren't quite so fortunate to make it out.  
**

* * *

Words had a funny way of twisting themselves. They could begin as one thing and end up meaning something completely different, especially depending on who was interpreting them and who was saying them. The same set of words said by two different people could mean two completely different things.

But whenever it came to Marui, the comparison between his name and another familiar word were always the same: teasing, mocking. "Maru" meant round, the difference from Marui when in romaji barely discernible. So it was an obvious connection, especially with the commonly known fact that he was a person who had a great sweet tooth.

But that didn't stop it from hurting some times. At beginning it had been all in good fun; it was generally just Niou saying it anyway, and the boy was always bitter. But then it had spread. And he had put up with it with Akaya, and even somewhat with Yukimura, but when other students – other members of the tennis clubs and other classmates of his, and people he really didn't know very well – had started using the word and his last name interchangeably, it hurt. It made it true somehow. Even though the logical part of his brain told him that he played tennis and that he wasn't fat in any way shape or form, he started to believe it.

That was when it began.

He didn't make the conscious decision or anything; he didn't wake up one day and suddenly decide. It was just one of those subtle "well, I need to even things out" moments where he decided to start cutting back on what he ate.

That had been years ago – or that was what it felt like, despite the fact that it had really only been a little under a year. It was really his second year of middle school, half way through and right after the season had ended that everything had really started. The reason had been simple: the season was ending, at least for the third year students, and he had a shot at making the regulars - but he had to be in the best shape possible, which included his weight.

The season was starting again; he was a regular.

But that didn't matter.

He couldn't change, couldn't stop, _wouldn't_ change, _wouldn't_ stop.

Leaning over the toilet retching with fingers down his throat directly after his lunch hour, Marui Bunta couldn't do anything but submit.


	2. Just the Beginning

**Disclaimer: **Here's a random fact: Albert Einstein did not invent food, contrary to Jay/Jess' belief. Here's another random fact: I don't own Prince of Tennis, Konomi-sensei does. The Rikkai naming system (Marui as 'Maru', Niou as 'Haru', Yukimura as 'Mura' and so on) belongs to Sandileina. I own the rest.

**Warning: this fic contains mature themes that include, but are not limited to, eating disorders, drug and alcohol abuse, self injury, and death, among others. This will also probably contain some shounen-ai, and quite possibly mature sexual themes. If you do not feel comfortable reading a story with this content please leave now.  
**

**A/N:** Yes, I fail at continuing stories. Also, according to Taylor who edited this (who knows nothing about PoT - not their ages, relationships, etc.) Yukimura sounds like he wants to get into Marui's pants. Feedback on that?

**Dedicated to everyone who has ever had to go through any of these, and to those who weren't quite so fortunate to make it out.

* * *

**

Coughing one last time, Marui wiped his mouth on a piece of toilet paper before standing up, flushing, and going to wash his hands. Outside the stall he could see himself in the mirror – the pale face with lank hair matted against his forehead, the tears that had formed and started a trail down his cheeks, the bags under his eyes. He didn't care. Rinsing his face, he headed back to start his afternoon classes and made a mental note to return directly afterwards; he needed to stay inconspicuous, needed the world not to notice him – not to notice _this_.

-----

Yukimura Seiichi knew everything. He saw, heard, and learned everything – he was one of those people who had a knack for life itself, The Child of God a very fitting title.

So he knew. He knew Marui Bunta and he knew what was going on, even though Marui didn't want him to know.

He knew exactly why the boy was late to afternoon practice, why there was a slight shake in his knees, why he was always chewing gum. (The same piece of gum, too; Yukimura knew that he was too afraid to switch to another, and he often chewed the same one for days on end.)

"Twenty laps," the captain ordered softly, and though his voice was gentle the team set off jogging near immediately. Marui followed close behind his teammates, preparing to ease into a jog.

"Not you Bunta." The tone was foreboding, a 'don't you dare' implication. Marui turned around but did not make eye contact, not quite sure what to expect. "Come here." A slim hand motioned for him, and Marui stepped closer. Yukimura patted the spot next to him on the bench. Reluctantly, Marui sat on the very edge.

"How are you?" the captain asked cheerfully. Marui mustered as much of a smile as possible, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"Good," he said, his voice permeated with false cheer. Yukimura gave an equally fake smile, his eyes etched with concern.

"Good to hear. You're positive nothing's been bothering you though?" He tried this often, hoping Marui would come to him. So far it hadn't been working as well as he would have liked. Marui shook his head a tad bit too vigorously. Even he knew he was putting on a pitiful performance.

"Nope," he replied. "I'm absolutely positively fine." Yukimura gave him a harsh glare but he avoided it, knowing that he couldn't give in that easily. Finally Yukimura gave a slight nod, barely a tilt of his head, and dismissed the boy. It was Monday, which meant they had more meetings than anything – that was apparently what a 'plenary session' was. Sitting on the ground and leaning against a bench as Yukimura talked, Marui closed his eyes; he hadn't slept well in ages, and lack of food only added to that.

-----

Niou Masaharu groaned internally as he sat down that Monday for practice – he had had a bad weekend, and he really needed an outlet for all of his frustration. He'd probably end up hitting the street courts later and humiliating some small child or inexperienced and cocky teen, but then Yukimura would get mad and ultimately sit him out of the first matches of the season. Considering tennis was all he had left as the moment, he really didn't want that.

He sat down on the pavement, because Yukimura had decided last year that he didn't care what the other forty nine members of the tennis club did as long as they could hear what he, Sanada, and Yanagi were saying. The captain made announcements, something about working hard and keeping up and always making sure to do your best in everything because he _was_ going to push you since this was Rikkai, but Niou didn't hear them. Really, he didn't care; if he listened it would just clutter his mind, and Yagyuu would always make sure to fill him in on the important details later.

"I am hoping for another great year," Yukimura finished, bringing Niou out of his thoughts. "I am sure you will all be working your hardest, and I know we can carry Rikkai through Nationals yet again." The team cheered and clapped, the few fangirls passing by and standing outside the courts swooning already. Niou rolled his eyes and got to his feet, not caring that Yukimura had yet to dismiss practice. He grabbed his things, spotting Marui on the way out, and headed off of grounds. A few moments later he caught up to the tensai, who looked relatively exhausted.

"Wanna play a match?" he asked the boy. Marui shrugged weakly, running a hand through his hair. Niou was slightly alarmed at the haggardness of his appearance, but shook it off.

"Sure, whatever," he muttered, heading off in the direction of the street courts. Niou nodded, satisfied; at least this way he wouldn't get into trouble with Yukimura, and could still work off his irritation.

-----

Sitting down on the bench in the locker room, Yukimura Seiichi gave a small sigh. It was Monday, the first real Monday of the season, but he had nothing interesting or important to really tell the team at the moment – most Monday sessions he normally had more, as odd as that was. Shaking his head slightly, he leaned backwards and rested his head against the bottom shelf of a shoe locker. The team had split up fairly quickly after practice, Niou and Marui slipping out before he could have a word with either of them, and Yagyuu had done the same though he had headed in the opposite direction. Akaya had run off to follow a few of the upperclassmen who had been taunting him and Jackal had trailed him, hopefully keeping him out of trouble; Sanada had gone off to finish his school work so he could practice kendo for a longer period of time tonight; Yanagi had gone off to read.

Yet despite the fact that he was alone, Yukimura didn't want to let his guard down. He was afraid, really, that somebody would see it – that the moment he put down the Cheering Captain routine somebody would pick up on the way his hands were shaking or the way his foot sometimes stuck. They would pick up on the way he jostled his limbs constantly to keep them from going numb. They would notice the slight catch in his voice the next time he talked, not because he was stumbling for words mentally but because his throat would physically not allow them to come out no matter how calm and collected he was.

Clenching his fists so hard that the nails dug into the palms of his hands, Yukimura held his chin high; there was nobody there to see it, but the act of defiance was all he needed.

He could do this. He wouldn't let whatever this thing was take him over, wouldn't let it disrupt his life, wouldn't let people worry over his petty problems when they all had their own very serious ones as well. He could beat whatever was thrown his way.

Standing up, Yukimura grabbed his racket from the bench and headed out to the courts most hidden from view. If extra training was what it took to make sure his muscles didn't forget how to do what was so natural to him, then he would do it, whatever the cost. As long as he didn't collapse again, crumpled on a crosswalk in the freezing December weather, he would be perfectly okay.

He knew it.

-----

"Why wouldn't Mura let you run?" Niou asked while kicking a pebble, sending it skidding towards Marui's shoes. The question was posed with curiosity and innocence, but Marui knew better than to let Niou try and fool him.

"Oh, just things like muscle cramps. The usual." The tensai waved a hand in the air in a nondescript direction, signaling that the reason was no big deal. Niou's eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch, but he didn't say anything more as they arrived at the street courts; the school day still hadn't been out that long, and practice was insanely short today so they had no trouble claiming the secluded court they preferred.

The play was nothing hard: a warm up, a few friendly rallies, pulling out a signature move just for the fun of it when they could. But Niou was keen, an observer: he always had been, that was how he played tennis. He caught the way Marui wasn't as fast as he used to be, the way the uniform seemed too baggy, the way the fingers that tightened around a racket handle were thinner – too thin, far too thing, the veins popping out of the skin even when the hands weren't clenched. He seemed to be withering away, right before Niou's eyes.

It scared him slightly, really taking in the fact that his friend had deteriorated so rapidly over the past year – over the past few months, over the last two weeks when they had all been on Spring break and nobody had seen each other. But at the same time it was comforting, to know that at least he wasn't the only one suffering – misery loved company after all.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, he raised a hand in a kind of stand-still agreement, cutting off the match and heading home without another real word.

-----

Marui took off after his match with Niou, walking at a steady rate just until he was out of Niou's sight, though he wasn't sure if the other teen was really paying attention. The second he knew he would not be spotted he broke into a run, an uneasy feeling washing over him.

It wasn't long before he was home, the silence echoing eerily in his mind. He knew Kenji was home, because the elementary school chess club didn't have practice that day, but the lack of a second pair of shoes in the entrance hall displayed that Akio had yet to return, probably because soccer practice had started up again that day, just as tennis had.

Not bothering to kick off his shoes, he headed for his room, quickly locking the door behind him. He headed for the closet, planning to change and going for a run, when his vision swerved. Marui reached a hand out, bracing himself on frame of the closet door with one hand as he squeezed his eyes shut, his other hand pressed tightly against his forehead. After a few moments the dizziness stopped, but a light-headed feeling remained, causing Marui to back up and fall backwards onto his bed, before settling into a dreamless and uneasy sleep.

* * *

**Feedback appreciated.**


	3. The First Curve

**Disclaimer: **Here's a random fact: Platypus are some of the only poisonous mammals. Here's another random fact: I don't own Prince of Tennis, Konomi-sensei does. The Rikkai naming system (Marui as 'Maru', Niou as 'Haru', Yukimura as 'Mura' and so on) belongs to Sandileina. I own the rest.

**Warning: this fic contains mature themes that include, but are not limited to, eating disorders, drug and alcohol abuse, self injury, and death, among others. This will also probably contain some shounen-ai, and quite possibly mature sexual themes. If you do not feel comfortable reading a story with this content please leave now.  
**

**A/N:** At least it's updated. Also, though this should go under the warning above: THIS CHAPTER IS VERY SPECIFICALLY T TO LOW M FOR LANGUAGE/WORD CHOICE AND IMPLIED SEX. Don't like, leave.

**Dedicated to everyone who has ever had to go through any of these, and to those who weren't quite so fortunate to make it out.

* * *

**

The instant Niou arrived home he near-bolted to his room, double locking the door; he had recently added a second lock, just in case somebody decided to come in unwelcome. Really, the chances of that happening from his family were extraordinarily slim – he didn't know the last time either of his parents had been home, Rei lived on campus most of the time, and Kosuke was wise enough to fend for himself and recognize that, just as he wanted time alone to practice violin, Niou wanted time alone as well. Perhaps not time to practice an instrument or do something the world would generally consider 'productive' or 'healthy', but time alone nonetheless.

No, it wasn't his family he was worried about. It was his friends. Though he hated to admit it, he had some pretty great friends – most of the time. But he didn't deserve them, and no matter how much he wanted them he knew he shouldn't have. That was the reason for the extra lock – both physically and emotionally. Without it Yagyuu or Yukimura or even Marui, before he had developed his own problems, probably would have barged in: into his bedroom and into his life, where they had no place to be. Because really, they didn't know him. They had never known him, and if he had his way they would never know him.

Because he didn't deserve to be known. He didn't deserve to have people care about him and he didn't deserve to know people who would be willing to sacrifice their time and energy to be with him simply out of pity.

He didn't deserve that and he didn't need that, because he was stronger than that and he was independent and he could survive all on his own.

All on his own with nobody and nothing but the darkness of his mind and the bottle to blur it all.

-----

Kirihara Akaya stood just inside the gates of the school. The day had ended long ago, and the sun was just beginning to set over the horizon, but he had stuck around: so had Yukimura.

It was heart wrenching to watch the older boy – his senior, his idol, and most importantly his boyfriend – struggle with something so silently. Kirihara hated seeing the older boy work himself this hard, hated how he couldn't ignore the fact that there were times when the senior fell down, when the racket slipped from his captain's hands, when his boyfriend didn't call or text him until late into the evening, claiming to have taken a nap or been studying or watching television when Kirihara knew he was really on the courts.

Sighing and with one last glance backwards, Kirihara adjusted his bag on his shoulder and left without a word.

-----

Jackal shook his head, blinking out of his stupor. He looked back down at his paper, re-focusing on the math problem in front of him for what was the fifth time that day. Pencil glided fluidly over paper, numbers written here and there and calculations done in the margins before he realized he'd used an entirely wrong set of numbers in the problem. Frustrated, he threw the pencil down. It bounced pathetically across his desk before rolling and falling down the crevice between the back of the desk and the wall.

Sighing, Jackal shut his notebook and pushed his chair back. Presently, he heard the front door open downstairs, and a few moments later screaming following.

Groaning, Jackal got up and pulled a spare pair of tennis shoes out of his closet. He removed his house slippers, hiding them away, and grabbed his tennis bag – something he, thankfully, always kept in his room – before sneaking downstairs.

A good game would clear his mind, and if not he could at least get some of this pent-up frustration out _somewhere_.

-----

He was flying. He was floating and flying and falling and god damn _dying_ and _why_ did he keep doing this?

Because he had to. Because he had no other choice.

It hurt; physically, emotionally, mentally.

The burning in his throat; the way he wanted to do nothing more than curl up in a ball in the corner; the way the thoughts were screaming as him and telling him exactly how worthless he was, using a higher vocabulary than he ever used to make their point. There were parts of him that wished he could make it go away, make it shut up, silence the noise and the voice and the insanity.

There were parts of it that were glad it was there, because it told him the truth.

Desperate for everything and nothing, Marui Bunta curled into a ball on the bathroom floor, body empty of the contents he'd forced into it half an hour ago, half-blacking out and barely missing hitting his head on the edge of the bathtub.

-----

Yukimura Seiichi's eyes snapped open. He looked around, head whipping from side to side as he tried to figure out why he'd woken up at such an ungodly hour – 2:03 AM - on his own.

Apparently he hadn't, as his brain suddenly registered the light, playful tune that was coming from his cell phone. He rolled over, planning to go back to bed because it was probably some stunt or another, until he caught wind of the caller ID out of the corner of his eye.

Marui Bunta.

He picked it up quickly, sitting bolt upright. A thin sheen of sweat had developed on his forehead as the adrenaline and panic coursed through his body, hoping something terrible hadn't happened.

"Bunta?" Yukimura asked, cautious, hoping his voice didn't sound like it was shaking as much through the phone as it did to him.

"Yukimura-nii-san? I… I think something… something…" The reply was a small, squeaking voice that Yukimura had heard only twice before, but recognized instantly.

"Is everything all right, Kenji?" he asked the youngest Marui gently. There was silence from the younger boy, but Yukimura could hear movement in the background.

"God damnit Aniki!" came the voice, somewhat dimmed, of the middle Marui, Akio. Yukimura was about to ask what was going on when Marui's voice floated through in a not-so-graceful manner.

"Hang up the freakin' phone, I'm _fine_," Marui growled, but Yukimura could hear that his words were partially slurred and that his voice was rough and gravely – his throat was damaged. Before Yukimura could tell Kenji not to, the eight year old had hung up.

No matter how many times he re-dialed, it went straight to voicemail.

-----

She smiled at him in the dim, flashing lights, eyelashes batting in a way that was so obviously an inexperienced attempt at seduction. Her eyeliner was heavily layered and her mascara clumped awkwardly at the edges of her lashes, which were at least ten shades darker than the hair she had bleached with shitty 500-yen stuff. It was clear, even from where he was standing, that it was the kind that tore out clumps of hair and left the texture rough and coarse and reeking of chemical bleach for months after, and her dark roots were showing underneath. She wore what was obviously 99-yen lip gloss from a convenience store, red like the cherry she'd probably never had popped.

She couldn't have been more than sixteen, and even that was pushing it, and it was obvious that her low-cut top and great breasts, plus that _incredibly_ short skirt and fine ass had gotten her in. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place her, and by the way she was standing – her ankles crossed awkwardly as she attempted to maintain eye contact with him – she had to be new around these parts.

But what fun was it to always fuck with the experienced ones when you could get your hands on fresh meat every one in a while?

Niou swaggered over, his steps smooth and even despite the fact that he was high out of his fucking mind.

"You lookin' fer a gentleman caller?" he asked, words not nearly as slurred as they should have been for what he'd consumed that day. Then again, the mix of depressants and stimulants in his system seemed to balance out rather nicely, and he had absolutely no problem with this.

The girl gave a sly smile, stepping forward. She pressed herself against him, giving him a clear view of her breasts down her obviously-meant-to-be-revealing shirt, the kind that was made of fake fur and had had a pair of scissors taken to it so that the original indecent cut was barely existent, replaced by a simple lack of material.

"You could say so," she whispered, lips brushing past his ear; though she was a good few inches short than he was, she was in a pair of hot pink pumps that clashed terribly with her lip gloss, evening them out.

"I got just th' thing fer ya, then," he whispered back, grabbing her wrist. Her eyes widened in obvious excitement and the thought '_new 'un'_ flitted through his mind again before it was gone and he was pushing her down on a bed in the back room, slamming the door shut behind them.

He patted his pockets down, looking for a condom that wasn't there, but before he could say anything she had pushed herself against him, locking their lips in a tight kiss that trailed all the way down to Niou's cock.

The rest of the night was a blur, but when Niou woke up in the morning he was sprawled on the floor of his room and more than a little bit sore, the distinct scent of sex still lingering on his unwashed body.


	4. A New Development

**Disclaimer: **Here's a random fact: My finals start in a week and a half. Here's another random fact: I don't own Prince of Tennis, Konomi-sensei does. The Rikkai naming system (Marui as 'Maru', Niou as 'Haru', Yukimura as 'Mura' and so on) belongs to Sandileina. I own the rest.

**Warning: this fic contains mature themes that include, but are not limited to, eating disorders, drug and alcohol abuse, self injury, and death, among others. This will also probably contain some shounen-ai, and quite possibly mature sexual themes. If you do not feel comfortable reading a story with this content please leave now.  
**

**A/N:** Posted now, because finals week is coming up (a week and a half until they start); no chapter for at least two weeks (if I'm a good girl who writes) because of this. So here's a gift (sort of?) for all of you who have to go back to school tomorrow after being on break. (As I do.) Also, written partially because I'm anxious - probably from not writing every day now that EDAH is over. Enough of me, though, read. (AND THIS CHAPTER T+ FOR DRUGS.)

**Dedicated to everyone who has ever had to go through any of these, and to those who weren't quite so fortunate to make it out.

* * *

**

Jackal opened his eyes, blinking and groaning into the light. It was bright, and glancing at his clock he realized that he'd be late to practice if he didn't hurry up. He threw on a pair of clothes, not really caring (and, quite thankfully, not having to deal with brushing his hair like normal people) and rushed down the stairs. He half tripped down them in the process, barely avoiding the cat, but he managed to catch his balance as he went flying in to the wall across from the stairs.

Before he could get out the door he heard something.

Crying. From the kitchen.

He slowed his movements, trying not to alert whatever relative was there of his presence – if he hasn't already with his loud _thud_ against the opposite wall – and he leaned around the corner carefully.

His mother was sitting there, her long, dark hair trailing down her back, but it was matted; she obviously hadn't gotten ready yet this morning, as she was still in her night outfit. She held her face in her hands, eyes covered, slips of paper strewn across the table. They were marked with bright red pens circles and Xs and line after line of text was highlighted in neon yellow, drawing attention.

Jackal tried, but he couldn't ignore the obvious signs that the finances were failing. His father's company was failing, they were in debt, they were going to lose everything.

His parents were fighting. The finances were running out.

The divorce was coming.

--

"Bunta." Yukimura's voice was firm; he'd spent the few hours after he'd been woken until dawn composing himself and rehearsing exactly what he was going to say. He was much more stable than he had been the previous hours, much more in control – he had the right of way, a first at the stop sign if you please, and he was planning on exercising it.

Marui ignored him.

"Bunta." The word had more force in it this time. Marui stopped walking, back still to Yukimura. He was hesitating. Good.

"What happened last night?" Yukimura asked slowly, deliberately. He heard the sharp intake of breathe from the other teen, knew that Marui didn't want to answer, but before the tensai could make a break for it Yukimura's hand was on his shoulder, rooting him in place.

"Nothing." It was one word, but the reply was sharp, harsh with the kind of sting like ice. Marui turned around, shaking off Yukimura's hand, though did not meet Yukimura's gaze; instead, he bowed deeply in apology. "I apologize for the false behaviors of Akio and Kenji. It will not happen in the future."

Marui turned and retreated, leaving a stunned Yukimura Seiichi to watch after him.

--

Yagyuu fidgeted. Niou wasn't there. And while Niou was prone to playing hooky, he'd normally drop Yagyuu a message – if only to taunt Yagyuu, tell him that there was a stick up his ass and that he'd be much better off playing video games with Niou for the day than pretending to learn about the history of Japan and how to express roots in exponential form.

But today, Niou hadn't. Yagyuu had gotten to word from Niou all day, not even a one-lined text message, and none of the seven or eight messages Yagyuu had sent to the boy had been returned.

Something was wrong, he knew, very wrong. And directly after practice he was going to find out what.

--

The knock at the door was deafening, a head-splitting sound that had Niou covering his ears in seconds. He growled before yelling a number of curse words, but the knocker did not go away. Niou made to move to get up just so he could spit some incredibly vile words and perhaps something _other_ than words at the person knocking, but the moment he moved his body shouted at him that this was a bad idea. Before he could tell his own body to go and shut the fuck up, though, the knocker had begun speaking.

"Masaharu." It was Yagyuu's voice; even in this state Niou knew the other teen's voice. He groaned.

"Fuck off!" he called, grabbing the arm of the nearby couch to stead himself. There were rings of color around his vision, and reality was blurring in front of him. Though he didn't hear it, his words had slurred together dangerously.

A minute and a half later the door was opened and Yagyuu was standing next to him, hand bloody from punching through the window nearest the front door. He crouched, one hand on Niou's shoulder, the other on his friend's face – the entire image was blurry to the Trickster.

"Masaharu," he whispered, then louder: "Masaharu." Niou blinked sluggishly in response, and Yagyuu waved a hand in front of his face. "Can you hear me?" Niou tried to say something, but the words didn't even come out half way, twisted hopelessly around his dysfunctional tongue in a way he wasn't used to, even when he was this high. Yagyuu sat him down, looking directly in his eyes – one hand had gone up and begun using his fingers to open the left one wider – before glancing down at Niou's arms. The Trickster didn't need to wonder what Yagyuu was looking for – or wonder whether the boy would find them. For once he'd gotten careless, assuming no one would find him (plus after the first round he hadn't bothered planning) and he'd shot up in the veins along his arms instead of in between his toes.

The last, blurry image Niou saw was Yagyuu whipping out his cell phone and dialing 119 with one hand while supporting Niou's now neck with the other as the needle Niou had been holding fell to the ground.

--

Yagyuu groaned, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. It'd been a few hours now since he'd walked in on the person he called his best friend (and more, quite frankly) overdosing, and by now the boy had been stabilized. Still, Yagyuu couldn't leave – wouldn't leave, at any rate – until the other boy woke up. He'd phoned his parents and told them he was spending the night at a friend's ("Not that dreadful Niou-kun's, I hope?" his mother had asked; he had told her that no, of course not, he would never dream of such a thing), so all that was left of tonight would be him waiting, and waiting, and waiting.

Eyes snapping open, Yagyuu took one last look at the still body in the room, before sighing and walking off. He could go for a cup of coffee, no matter how bad or vending-machine-based it may have been, and he was going to find one.

Strolling down the hall, Yagyuu peered out from behind lenses hoping to spot a coffee machine that wasn't far. (Not that it mattered, he had plenty of time to kill, but Kirihara-kun had gotten on Sanada's nerves a bit too far today and they'd _all_ had a particularly diabolical number of laps to run, so he wasn't up to walking too far at the moment.)

Before he could find a coffee machine, though, Yagyuu spotted something – or rather, _someone_ – much more familiar: Yukimura Seiichi. The boy had his back turned, so Yagyuu knew his captain hadn't spotted him yet, and he was thoroughly engrossed in a conversation with a doctor.

Adjusting his hair so that the part was a bit off, Yagyuu pulled off his glasses and stuffed them in his pocket. He was in clothes other than his Rikkai uniform, thank the world, and so he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt before slumping his posture and walking at a more shuffled pace. If Yukimura turned around he would probably be busted, but the boy seemed caught up in his conversation enough that he wouldn't notice the person who had just shuffled past and sat down in a nearby chair.

"…fine," was the first word Yagyuu could make out as he passed the pair, sitting down. He picked up a magazine, burying his nose in it but not actually reading.

"I'd still like to run some tests, Yukimura-kun," the doctor said, but his voice held the sigh that Yagyuu recognized all too well: it was the "I've been dealing with someone who has argued nicely so I can't be mad, but I am most definitely frustrated" sigh.

"If it can be helped, I'm going to politely decline the offer," Yukimura's honey-sweet "I Am In Control" voice said. The doctor did not say anything for a moment, before making his final remark.

"If you will not cooperate I will not be afraid to get your parents involved, as you are underage." Another pause, then, "But as it is I trust you to be responsible at the moment. We're logging your condition, and I'm trusting" – the doctor's eyes narrowed a fraction here, which Yagyuu just barely saw over the magazine and without his glasses – " that you're not lying to us about your senses being more heightened than in previous months simply because you want to avoid being admitted." The doctor looked at him, expectant.

Yukimura gave one strong nod of his head, a mutter of "I promise, sir, I'm not," and the two walked off in opposite directions leaving Yagyuu a new dilemma to push around his mind while waiting for Niou to come-to.

* * *

**Ending A/N: **Reviews appreciated, as always. I know you see that little button there, oh yes I do. ;)


	5. The Weakest Link

**Disclaimer: **Here's a random fact: I passed my semester one final in Chemistry. Here's another random fact: I don't own Prince of Tennis, Konomi-sensei does. The Rikkai naming system (Marui as 'Maru', Niou as 'Haru', Yukimura as 'Mura' and so on) belongs to Sandileina. I own the rest.

**Warning: **this fic contains mature themes that include, but are not limited to, eating disorders, drug and alcohol abuse, self injury, and death, among others. This will also probably contain some shounen-ai, and quite possibly mature sexual themes. If you do not feel comfortable reading a story with this content please leave now.**  
**

**A/N:** Somewhat filler-y, needed to tie a few things up (_sort of_) because a necessary timeskip is going to occur in the next chapter. Also, because people have asked: YES, Gen and Renji WILL show up. Most of their troubles are directly related to later plot points, though. _Thanks_. **Reviews and critique encouraged.**

**Dedicated to everyone who has ever had to go through any of these, and to those who weren't quite so fortunate to make it out.

* * *

**

Minutes dragged into hours, hours stretched upon hours until dawn had cracked. Yagyuu had not slept, no relief drawing across him. His body was tight, taunt, the tense, anxious energy of worry filling his entire body. He needed to run, to move, to stretch, to storm the courts this morning with Niou by his side.

It would not happen.

Sigh a last sigh, he glanced at the still motionless body lying, pale, in the hospital bed, before taking his leave.

----

Jackal slipped outside with ease, the early morning breeze running over his scalp. It was calming, the familiar feeling of something so natural, and he took in a deep breath before continuing his walk to school.

The day ran smoothly, both morning practice and afternoon included – much more smoothly than any day had recently. Niou wasn't there again (Yagyuu said he was "sick" which probably meant he had been playing hooky the past two days in favor of this some new video game), but this was an all together good thing for Jackal. It meant Akaya had less instigation, which meant he was less prone to striking out at less powerful members of the club (or even innocent bystanders), which meant Jackal didn't have to worry as much about whether or not someone was going to end up in the hospital.

So Jackal hadn't considered turning his friend down when he'd approached and asked if he could come over to study that night.

"Of course," Jackal replied without thinking. Half a second later his stomach dropped, the fact that his family might be fighting coming to mind, but Marui had already lit up more than Jackal could remember in a long time and Jackal didn't have the heart to say no.

The walk was short, and Jackal had no words to express the relief he felt when it became apparent his family wasn't home. It was a bit odd, but for once Jackal decided not to question and instead to thank his lucky stars. Marui didn't seem to notice anything off, and he dropped his stuff on the floor Jackal's room unceremoniously, lying back on the other teen's bed and closing his eyes for a moment.

Jackal watched, worried.

He wasn't blind, obviously, and he really did care for Marui: the sight in front of him was terrifying. Yet, at the same time, Jackal wasn't about to broach it – that would be far too risky. No, instead he sat down in a chair, own bag flopping down, and pulled out his history notebook. Marui _had_ suggested they study, and at least immersing himself in work would be distracting.

Marui followed suit a few minutes later, every now and then asking Jackal for help on a particularly stubborn math equation. The afternoon passed quickly, and before either teen had realized the sun had slipped almost entirely past the horizon.

"I should head home soon." Though the comment was normal, Marui's voice lingered just like his body, hand staying on the back of Jackal's chair even though he was walking toward the door.

"Jackal." The Brazilian looked up, head turning to study Marui. The tensai paused, shying away, but before he could run Jackal had taken over.

"Is everything all right?" It was a stupid question, because obviously everything wasn't, but Jackal couldn't not ask it regardless of the consequences.

Marui froze, body tensing. After a long, drawn out silence, he responded.

"Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

And the hand slipped off the back of his chair, the delicate body dragging it desolately out the door.

----

"Good morning," Yagyuu murmured despite the time of day being late afternoon. His voice was weary with exhaustion, having barely slept in the last 36 hours, and though there was a turmoil of emotions roiling within him he did not have the energy to lash out on them.

"Wha…" Niou began, a fuzzy murmur as well. Yagyuu pushed the unruly bleached locks back, planting a relieved kiss on the other teen's forehead.

"You overdosed." Though it was a grim thing to say, Yagyuu did not – _could not_ – sound mad, because there were parts of him still just relieved that the other boy was alive and talking. Niou gave a barely discernable tip of his head in acknowledgement of this fact, though the puzzlement obvious in his eyes showed Yagyuu he had no recollection of this occurrence.

"Shit," Niou croaked, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. His entire body burned, limbs aching and stiff, but he struggled to stay awake: Yagyuu was there. For him.

"Why?" The one word rang loudly through the room, hanging like a cloud of smog in a city. Niou shrugged, arm falling back down to the bed. The sheets were pale, but his skin made no dramatic contrast with them.

"I dunno I just…" Niou trailed off, mind puzzling; why _had_ he done it in the first place? He had no idea. And, _better yet_, why did _Yagyuu _care? When did it become _Yagyuu's _business to keep tabs on his life daily? When did it become _Yagyuu's_ job to question his motives for everything?

"When I became your best friend." Yagyuu's reply was harsh, and though his glasses were on Niou could picture the ice that had come over normally warm brown eyes. "When I became your _boyfriend._"

Niou sat, motionless, speechless. Yagyuu took deep breathes, trying to calm himself down; Niou's lack of response, for once, did not help.

Without another word the Gentleman rose, fists clenched, and trudged out of the hospital room.

----

_Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring._

'_I'm sorry, but the number you have dialed is-'_

"Fucking bitch," Kirihara growled at the automated female voice that came onto the other line, informing him that – _yet again_ – the phone had not been picked up. As if he couldn't already tell.

Groaning, he flipped it shut, enclosing it in his palm and wishing with all his might that Yukimura would call back. He opened his eyes, looking down in hope that it would spark to life.

No such thing happened.

The phone went hurtling across the room, hitting the wall with a loud smack; the crack already in the wall deepened, the screen on the front of the phone broke as the battery fell out.

Kirihara did not retrieve it.

Dejected, he threw himself backwards onto his bed; his head barely avoided nailing the wall behind him. He closed his eyes, trying to take deep, calming breathes as Yanagi-senpai had been teaching him, but the unquenchable internal rage continued.

With an equally dejected groan, Kirihara got up and padded across the room, picking up the phone. He was snapping the battery back into place when he heard it.

The front door opening.

He stilled for a moment, ears perking as he listened for any signs of danger. There were none, just the eerie quiet, before an exploding crash resonated from the living room.

Dashing for his own door, Kirihara missed clicking the lock a second too early. Before he could move he was thrown back against the wall, chest stinging from the blow he'd received. If there were words being spoken Kirihara couldn't make them out, one eye swelling shut before he even got a good look at his attacker – not that he needed to. Though different people, the guys were always the same – from the same part of town and looking for the same thing: a quick fuck and an easy place to crash for the night. Kirihara-san gave them the first, and they took the second. In return they received a third: a way to release their anger, a human being to do it on.

With a relenting shudder, Kirihara let his body fall to the ground. He felt the blows coming at him, heard the crack as someone stepped on a finger and he screamed. At first the had resisted, fought back, but the more times this happened the sooner Kirihara had realized that fighting only made it worse and that, no matter how much pushing his pride away hurt, it was what was necessary.

To survive.


	6. Catalyst

**Disclaimer: **Here's a random fact: I'm off to wash the guilt of this off at swim practice. Here's another random fact: I don't own Prince of Tennis, Konomi-sensei does. The Rikkai naming system (Marui as 'Maru', Niou as 'Haru', Yukimura as 'Mura' and so on) belongs to Sandileina. I own the rest.

**Warning: **this fic contains mature themes that include, but are not limited to, eating disorders, drug and alcohol abuse, self injury, and death, among others. This will also probably contain some shounen-ai, and quite possibly mature sexual themes. If you do not feel comfortable reading a story with this content please leave now.**  
**

**A/N:** Important chapter is IMPORTANT. (Also, please note that the shounen-ai relationships that occur in this fic do have a purpose, in some aspects. I realize it's probably too late to say that, but they _do_, and please respect my weird likes for the sake of the fic. Thanks. I promise not to conk you over the head with it, if I can help it.) **Reviews and critiques appreciated. Re-uploaded to fix minor typographical errors.  
**

**Dedicated to everyone who has ever had to go through any of these, and to those who weren't quite so fortunate to make it out.

* * *

**

Marui Bunta looked outside once more, checking to make sure the coast was clear; it was, just as it had been for the past two minutes, and with one last glance around the hallways he slipped entirely inside the bathroom. He slipped inside the bathroom stall at the end of the row, staying as far away from the hallway as possible, and bent over as far possible with one arm braced against the wall and the other flat across his stomach. Taking a deep breath, he contracted his muscles in the way he'd practiced, _just so_, and everything he'd been forced to consume during lunch that day under Yukimura and Yanagi's watchful eyes came right back up.

He repeated this process once, twice, three times – he lost count, but the searing in his throat told him it had been more than once. He was gagging one final time, making sure that all that was left was bile, when the door opened; he heard the sound, but it was too late to stop.

He rushed to finish, hoping that whoever had entered would be some stranger -- a lowerclassmen perhaps though that was pushing his luck in the senior wing bathroom – but he was terribly out of luck. A moment later the door to the stall he was occupying was flung backwards, and before Marui could turn to tell the person off rough, familiar hands were holding back hanging strands of pink hair and rubbing soothing circles on his back.

Letting the last of it out, Marui collapsed backward. Tears trickled down his face.

"You need to get help," Yanagi said softly. Marui shook his head violently.

"No," he croaked out. "N'uh. Nothin's wron'." Yanagi sighed; the worst part about Marui's statement was that he _actually believed it_.

"Bunta-"

"_No._" There was more force behind the denial now, and Marui pulled away before turning around. Hurt glazed over his eyes, pain and defiance bubbling up for the most erroneous reasons. "I'm _fine._"

Yanagi did not reply; instead, he held the smaller teen closer – for once, Marui seemed to be too exhausted to try to squirm away in fear. A hand ran gently down Marui's body and Yanagi almost flinched at the feeling of bone beneath loose skin. He stopped when Marui flinched, hissing in pain. Yanagi did not run his hand over the spot again; he did not need to. He knew exactly what the rough, slightly swollen lines all across the other boy's body were from.

"Fine." The tensai's voice cracked, tears spilling down his face. "Absolutely fine."

Yanagi Renji held him tightly, kissing the sweat-damp nape of his neck and murmuring soothing words.

It was the only thing he knew how to do.

----

Time passed. Or, rather, it dragged on like a bad cold in the middle of exam week or a four-year-old's shoes while walking to the dentist.

But, nonetheless, it passed.

A month and a half had, slowly but surely, gone on just as was expected. The summer heat grew more intense, practices grew more harsh, and people grew more tense.

Kirihara sighed, fingers grasping the hem of his shirt before pulling it off. He was in the safety of his own room, door locked, but the mental image of what was underneath made him self-conscious regardless.

Looking himself over in the mirror, Kirihara carefully surveyed each limb, arms and legs and chest and back. He wasn't looking back: most of the bruises that he'd sustained a week earlier had dissipated (the only ones that remained he could pass off as practice-related) and the couple of gashes that had been drawn along his chest by a pocket knife two weeks ago had healed nicely, only light pink scarring.

Nodding in satisfaction, Kirihara quickly slipped his shirt back on and picked up his cell phone, pressing speed dial one and hoping Yukimura would pick up. They hadn't hung out outside of school in a long time, and it would be fun to do something with the other teen.

----

Niou Masaharu stretched, arms pulled behind him like the joints in a wing. Bright summer sunlight flooded across his skin, tan from spending so much time outdoors playing tennis. Next to him walked Yagyuu Hiroshi, silent and courteous as ever, tennis shoes barely making a noise against the rough pavement.

They were going to play tennis, because, well… that was what they did.

Used to do. At one point in time.

Of course, they stilled played; _obviously_ they still played because if they didn't then they wouldn't have even been noteworthy members of Rikkai. But it wasn't the same. The relaxed spark that came with the game had gone out; the light atmosphere had turned dark, brooding clouds covering a previously clear sky.

"Masaharu." Yagyuu's voice was quiet, the stilted politeness it always held in place. Niou paused for a moment, but continued walking; he did not reply. Yagyuu would continue when he saw fit.

Before the other teen could do so, however, a screeching voice broke between them.

"You are _so_ _DEAD!_" It was a female voice. Though they normally would not have stopped walking, before Niou could suggest they skedaddle fingers had dug into his shoulder and spun him around.

"Yo, bitch, I don't know _what your problem is_, but could you _leave me the fuck alone_?" Guilt immediately twinged within him.

The girl was shaking. Tears ran down her face, and her heavily layered mascara was smudged as it dripped down her face. Hair hung around her face, ratty, and if he hadn't recognized her he would have pushed her off.

"Oh shit." He stumbled backwards, and she stayed put, hand falling limply to her side.

Yagyuu observed, both concerned and curious.

"_You_," she hissed, "this is all _your_ fault." She shoved what she was holding in Niou's direction, before kicking him in the shin. She stood there, fuming, as Niou processed just _what_ the little plastic stick was telling him.

Yagyuu was the first one to speak.

"Is there something I may inquire about?" His voice was low, the polite softness so associated with him heavily present in his voice. Niou could hear the underlying hostility.

"It-" Niou began. Yagyuu cut him off.

"I was asking Koyama-san," he said politely. Niou froze; he _knew_ her?

The girl sobbed. "A – a m-month and a h-h-half ago, he… he…" Tears were flooding now, but neither boy made any move to comfort her. People brushed past them as if they weren't there, not wanting to get tied up in stupid teenage drama.

"_He raped me_."

It was a high-pitched squeal. People on the other side of the street stopped walking. All attention was given to the three teenagers.

"And then he left me with _this_." She waved a hand at the positive pregnancy test in Niou's hand. He dropped it like a hot pot and kicked it against the side of the building until it smashed.

Before the Trickster could even _attempt_ to justify, Yagyuu had stormed off.

----

"I'm busy." The words came out much harsher than Yukimura had expected, and he regretted them almost instantly. The voice on the other end did not respond, but Yukimura could feel that shock. "'Kaya – I mean-"

"Nah, I get it. It's fine. Whatever." Though Kirihara's tone was casual, Yukimura could hear the minute traces of hurt underneath. "I'll talk to you tomorrow then."

"Akaya, wai-"

It was no use. The freshman hung up the phone, and by the time Yukimura tried calling him back it had been switched off.

----

"'Roshi!" he called. Then, louder: "_Hiroshi_!"

Though Yagyuu heard him, he did not turn around. Niou sprinted to catch up, but closing the gap was a lot harder than it would seem; both of them ran fast, had been trained to, and in a moment of rage Yagyuu could out sprint Niou by a long shot.

"It was a fucking _accident_," he spewed, ignoring the looks passing pedestrians were giving him. "I didn't mean-"

Niou never finished the sentence. Before he could his mind registered the scene going on not twenty yards in front of him: a light, turning from red to green. A truck, hurtling down the street at a pace far too fast to stop in time to yield to pedestrians. Yagyuu stepping into the crosswalk.

"Hiroshi, _move!_"

Yagyuu never lived to hear it.


	7. The Splintered Night

**Disclaimer: **Here's a random fact: You are beautiful. Here's another random fact: I don't own Prince of Tennis, Konomi-sensei does. The Rikkai naming system (Marui as 'Maru', Niou as 'Haru', Yukimura as 'Mura' and so on) belongs to Sandileina. I own the rest.

**Warning: **this fic contains mature themes that include, but are not limited to, eating disorders, drug and alcohol abuse, self injury, and death, among others. This will also probably contain some shounen-ai, and quite possibly mature sexual themes. If you do not feel comfortable reading a story with this content please leave now.**  
**

**A/N:** This chapter is shorter and more filler-y, sorry for that. It's because the scene I wanted to follow was WAY too long to include; expect the next chapter up relatively soon. This chapter partially inspired by chapter ten of Lahdolphin's _Geeks in Love_. I REALLY recommend you go read that, just for the _beautiful message_it contained. **Reviews and critiques appreciated.  
**

**Dedicated to everyone who has ever had to go through any of these, and to those who weren't quite so fortunate to make it out.** And a special shout out to one of our own FF . net users, though I won't name names, because I read your review like a creeper on _Geeks in Love_ and I'm glad you're working through it. Keep it up!  
**

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**

The phone call comes in the middle of the night, a blaring ring that wakes all occupants of the house. Yukimura lunges for it, the number displayed on caller ID one he knows well, but before he can his mother has picked up; when he enters the line he knows they other two people know he is on the line, and they stop talking almost immediately.

"What is it?" he asked, breathless. There is a part of him that has feared this phone call since December when he made the first of many trips to the hospital. There is a part of him that just wants the doctor on the other line to get it over with. To tell him that he's dying and or to just _fix him_ already because he doesn't want to continue living in these conditions: always hiding, always worrying.

"There's been an accident," his mother says softly from her end of the phone, and Yukimura's ears perk in morbid curiosity. Before he could ask what, though, his bedroom door had been cracked open and his mother entered, sitting down next to him. She held him close and Yukimura's heart sank, afraid of what was to come. From the phone still pressed to his ear, the doctor spoke.

"I am afraid that earlier today a young man was emitted to my emergency room after suffering severe injuries in a pedestrian-automotive related accident. Despite our best efforts, it was clear he had died almost on contact due to the massive internal trauma sustained from being thrust back against the pavement and a street light." The doctor paused here, letting Yukimura take this in. Before Yukimura could ask why he was being told this, the doctor continued.

"The teenager in question was identified as Yagyuu Hiroshi shortly after; I… your mother has mentioned him on occasion, and I felt it was best if the news were delivered by myself instead of one of my staff." Silence washed over the room and the man on the other line, though the gentle hum of residents running to and from and going about their nightly tasks could be heard in the background.

Yukimura Seiichi let out a chocked sob as his mother quietly thanked her colleague for the information and hung up.

----

The news spread like wildfire.

Yukimura hadn't called everyone right away; he'd taken a few minutes to himself, had a cup of tea, and gathered his bearings. Then, ignoring the fact that the clocks in his house glowed brightly with the time of 3:41, he'd selected his first contact and pressed call.

Yanagi had picked up quickly, despite the late hour. Yukimura had always known the other teen to be a light sleeper, and somewhat of an insomniac at that, so the crystal clarity in his friend's voice wasn't too surprising. Quietly he'd asked the other teen to call Sanada on the other line so they would connect. He did.

Yukimura delivered the news swiftly, voice shaking slightly; he knew that, out of everyone he knew, these two would not judge him for such a thing.

With the quiet, collected intensity that all three of them held so dearly, Yukimura, Yanagi, and Sanada promptly made phone calls and left messages about what had happened. Only the basics were given, unless someone picked up.

The only other person who picked up was Jackal.

Finally, as light began to filter through the crudely made curtains that hung in the Yukimura kitchen, the teen sent one last phone call – a message through the school calling system that would go out to every member of the team – canceling practice but requesting the Regulars to all meet outside the clubroom at the same time. Only after this was the phone officially set down.

And the day began.

--

The club room was silent. Absolutely silent.

Marui sat in the corner between the wall and the cubbies, tucked far less snugly than should have been possible in such a small face, with his knees pulled to his chest and his head bowed. Yanagi leaned against the wall adjacent to the one Marui was leaning on, hands tucked into the pockets of his regulars jacket; his head was also bowed, and his bangs obscured his ever-closed eyes. Jackal sat nearby on the floor, back pressed against the cubbies and neck extended backwards so his head rested in one of them. Sanada leaned against the wall, the brim of his cap pulled down to obscure any expression from him.

Across the room Akaya sat on the bench, nearly bent in half with his eyes pressed to his knees. His fists were clenched at his side, knuckles white and, though he was silent, the telltale shake of his shoulders gave away the fact that he was sobbing.

Yukimura sat next to him, straight as always but even his chin was dipped; though he faced them, he did not speak.

Niou was not present.

"Not fucking _fair_."

Heads turned.

It was the baby of the team who had spoken.

He raised his head, but did not look at anyone. Tears dripped from his eyes as he spoke again.

"It's just _not fucking fair._" The mop of tangled curls moved again as Akaya leaned his neck backwards, resting it against the window frame and gazing toward the ceiling. His hands had unclenched from the fists they'd previously been in and now his palms were pressed flat against the wall, fingers digging pointlessly in to the stone.

"Why _Yagyuu-senpai?"_ This time when the younger boy spoke his voice cracked, soft and helpless as he deteriorated into another round of sobs.

The team sat like that for a while, time stretching and shrinking in increments. The early morning light rapidly changed, but no one – not even Sanada – left to go to class once 8:30 struck. Cautiously a teacher entered at a time when the sun was so high everyone, including him, should have been in class. He looked them over, hands clasped solemnly in front of him, before speaking.

"We've called in a grief counselor," the teacher said softly. A woman, probably in her late twenties, entered as he turned and left.

It would take the rest of the day.

----

Niou sat, arms wrapped around his knees. His phone lay in the corner, battery removed; he'd unplugged the house phones a long time ago. He did not need the constant ringing, the constant reminder.

The needle lay next to him, untouched and full.

If he did this, there would be no more pain.

If he did this, there would be no one to save him from himself.

It was a terrifying thought. It was liberating.

He picked it up, put it back down. Placed it against his vein, removed it and set it on his desk.

He shouldn't touch it, and he knew this, the feeling of unease at recalling nothing from the last time he'd woken up gripping him in a strong, chain-like embrace.

He did not want that to happen again.

If he succeeded, it wouldn't.

If he succeeded, he would be either high or dead or perhaps a combination of both. He was not entirely sure anymore, as his blood began to boil and his brain began to soar, right side-up becoming up-side-side and right becoming something other than three lefts.

The now-empty needle slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor with a ping.

* * *

**Ending A/N:** Reviews and critique appreciated. Sorry for the filler-esque nature of this chapter, next chapter is more emotionally heavy though and I figured there needed to be a "quieter" sort of "recovery" chapter in between.


	8. Consistent Contingency

**Disclaimer: **Here's a random fact: You are beautiful. Here's another random fact: I don't own Prince of Tennis, Konomi-sensei does. The Rikkai naming system (Marui as 'Maru', Niou as 'Haru', Yukimura as 'Mura' and so on) belongs to Sandileina. I own the rest.

**Warning: **this fic contains mature themes that include, but are not limited to, eating disorders, drug and alcohol abuse, self injury, and death, among others. This will also probably contain some shounen-ai, and quite possibly mature sexual themes. If you do not feel comfortable reading a story with this content please leave now.**  
**

**A/N:** Shorter chapter is short, once again, because _next chapter_ contains MAJORplot points _instead_ of just filler set-up scenes. I do want to note, though that the relationships here ARE VERY important, and not just to entertain my fangirlish tendencies. No, really, I promise. Also, **reviews and critiques appreciated.  
**

**Dedicated to everyone who has ever had to go through any of these, and to those who weren't quite so fortunate to make it out.** And - _this chapter especially -_ a special shout out to one of our own FF . net users, though I won't name names,in reference to the review I saw, like a creeper, on _Geeks in Love_ because I truly _am_ glad you're working through it and hope you never went through the absolute worst extremes.  
**

* * *

**

The door was half open when Akaya came home, the knob twisted impossibly far back; Akaya noted that it was broken and that he needed to get it fixed as soon as possible. (Perhaps Yanagi-senpai could help, he was smart. Or fukubuchou, because he always seemed like the type who would be good with his hands.) It wasn't the most important chore at hand, but it was helping to keep his mind off of things.

"You fucking _bitch!"_

Akaya froze, and had his bag not been propped up on his shoulder it would have fallen to the floor.

Then, out of instinct more than skill, Akaya leapt backwards and behind the couch. It took him a moment to realize why, but by the time he did heavy footsteps had made their way out of the house. Glancing after the clearly inebriated man, Akaya could tell he was a regular: just another one of the shitty men his mother brought home, the ones who ruined her life – and his.

With a quiet sigh that was very much un-Akaya-like, the thirteen year old carefully closed the door (taking extra care in making sure it _appeared_ properly secured though it wasn't) and toed off his shoes before setting his school things in his room.

The sobbing came, then. It always did.

With careful feet and quiet words, Akaya found his mother sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Her hair was a matted tangle, much like his own often was except for the fact that hers was straight – only the slightest hint of a wave – and dark brown. Bruises littered her face, and there was a cut above her right eyebrow that bled sluggishly down her face; a purple handprint was visible from under the filmy material of what she considered a shirt. Mascara an down her cheeks in dark streaks where the tears had carried it, pooling at the tip of her chin and dripping onto what had previously been a white, ridiculously short skirt that left nothing to the imagination.

Moving slowly so as not to spook her, Akaya sat down next to her. His mother did not look at him, but turned away as best as possible; though she made to speak the words did not manage to come out.

He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her thin frame nearly crumble in his arms. Then Kirihara-san broke down, body wracking with sobs of pain and frustration and anger and sorrow as she let out a shrill shriek of anguish.

Akaya held her, rocking her trembling form in a soothing manner and taking on more responsibility for someone else's actions than someone of his age should have had to.

----

The doors to the cupboard were thrown open as quietly as possible, the manic look in his eyes frightening. Package after package was pulled out, the brightly colored wrappers of highly processed substances strewn across the floor with the loud noise of crinkling foil. He shoved chips down his throat, not even tasting them; cold pizza and leftover noodles followed. He tore through a pack of cookies followed by half a large cake. Periodically he'd chug a swig of milk, helping to get it all down, and though he knew how difficult and disgusting purging with milk was he planned to do it anyway.

He stood, woozy on his feet. His head was spinning, the rush he'd felt while binging quickly overtaken by panic that he needed to get it all back up. His feet were carrying him toward the bathroom subconsciously, but before he could a large hand grasped onto his wrist.

Marui froze.

"Bunta." It was a low, concerned murmur and before Marui could pull away, Yanagi had pulled him into a tight embrace. Marui flinched, afraid Yanagi would be repulsed, but his boyfriend didn't back away.

Tears fell silently, soaking parts of the soft cotton Yanagi was wearing. The dataman carefully guided Marui way from the bathroom, pulling him into the bedroom they often shared. He removed the smaller boy's shirt and pants and for once Marui did not struggle. Instead, he hung his head in characteristic shame. Yanagi tilted his chin up, but Marui diverted his eyes.

Yanagi kissed him.

Full on the mouth, strong and steady unlike the usual clumsy actions.

Marui stood, shocked and unmoving.

When Yanagi pulled away there was a look in his eyes, something akin to sorrow. But there was also the fiery determination that made him a powerful member of Rikkai Dai.

He kissed Marui again, quickly on his lips and then slowly downward. Yanagi's mouth gently moved across Marui's jaw, softly, down the boy's neck in small, soothing pecks. The other teen got to Marui's chest and he kneeled, kissing all exposed skin as he did so. It was a gesture of love more than sexual affection, and his next move sealed this fact and brought tears to Marui's eyes.

Carefully Yanagi took Marui's right arm and, kneeling next to it, began to kiss it. He kissed every single mark – every scar, new or old, every cut, fresh or scabbed. When he was done with the right arm, he did the same to the left arm, giving every self-inflicted injury love and care. Whenever he came across a particularly deep or long cut (and there were far more than he cared for) Yanagi would pause and run his lips gently over it a number of times, trying to convey the love he felt for the boy in front of him no matter the issues he had.

Tears spotted the floor, dripping off of Marui's face as he sobbed, the gesture too powerful for him to control himself.

When Yanagi finished Marui's arms he continued, mouth pressing kisses to the cuts lacing across Marui's stomach, bloated from his recent binge, and carefully kissing a deep gash that had barely scabbed. He moved down to Marui's thighs, carefully ghosting over the pale section of skin. Marui shivered and looked like he wanted to run, but he _didn't_. Instead he stayed, rooted to the spot.

Yanagi finally teared up, couldn't help it. He hated seeing Marui in pain, and more than that he hated seeing Marui hurt _himself_.

His hand carefully traced the words of hate Marui had carved into his thighs – fat, ugly, hate, failure – before using his fingers to slowly spell out kanji at a pace Marui would understand with a concept he wouldn't: love.

Carefully, gently, as if Marui was a broken doll – and perhaps he was – Yanagi kissed the cuts, the marks that made the normally covered skin marred and unrecognizable. When he'd finished kissing even the self-inflicted bruises scattered across Marui's calves and shins he sat up, looking Marui in the eyes and, moreover, in the soul. He stood slowly, kissed Marui once more – tenderly – before pulling away.

"I love you." The words were spoken slowly, purposefully. Marui tried to avert his gaze to deny it, but Yanagi's fingers gripped his chin and held it in place, letting him know the words were entirely true.

"Why can't you see that?" There were tears streaming down Yanagi's face now as he asked, holding Marui's hand with his free one in a tight grasp.

"I just… I can't." The words sounded lame to his own ears, weak and raspy from his damaged, raw throat. Marui choked, sobs wracking his body as he repeated, "I can't. I don't get it."

"What is there to get?" Though he didn't mean for it to, he was exasperated and the frustration was audible.

"Wh… why me?" Marui finally voiced, lip quivering in fear.

"Because you're a _wonderful_ person with a _fantastic_ personality," Yanagi said seriously. "And if you stopped _killing_ yourself you'd have a fantastic body to go along with it."

Marui stood, shocked speechless. Even the tears seemed to freeze, pausing mid-act as Marui tried to process Yanagi's words.

Then he fell forward, and Yanagi's strong arms wrapped around him and held him up, burying his face in limp pink hair.

"I love you," Yanagi murmured. Then, again, "I love you."

He repeated it until Marui fell into the restless oblivion of sleep.

* * *

**A/N: Reviews and critiques appreciated.** Next chapter contains more plot work, by the way; this chapter was somewhat filler-y, but more emotionally draining, at least for me as an author. Thoughts and comments appreciated.


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